


Treading Water

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/M, M/M, for Patrons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 04:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heero's getting by. His life is fine. He has structure and routine and maybe he aches with loneliness, maybe he counts the minutes of the day but he's alive. It's fine.</p><p>Until Duo Maxwell wrecks Heero's carefully crafted routine and forces Heero to realize that he's not fine, he's not even alive anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cylina Nightshade (Cylina)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cylina/gifts).



A/N: For CylinaNightshade, one of my amazing patrons on Patreon. Here is your May fic, as requested. 

A/N #2: For details on the request, please see the endnotes. 

A/N#3: As always, thank you so very, very much to my amazing beta reader Ro. You not only save me from the curse of run-on sentences, but give me the motivation to keep writing.

 

Warnings: angst, language, sexy-times, CHARACTER DEATH

Pairings: 1x2, 1xR

 

_ Treading Water _

Part One

 

Routines were important, which meant that Heero woke up at six in the morning, every morning, regardless of what he had planned for the day.

He woke up, performed his morning ablutions, and ate a breakfast of toast, black coffee and a banana while reading  _ The Washington Post _ news feed on his Kindle. 

That was the easy part. He had never liked sleep anyway, had always had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep for as long as he could remember, so getting out of bed every morning wasn’t a chore. It was sad, probably, how good it felt sometimes to take his morning piss and, after washing his hands so thoroughly that they turned pink under the water, he brushed his teeth and flossed. Eating was dull, the dullest part of his routine, in fact, and he put the minimum effort into it. Just enough to ensure that he had  _ something _ in his stomach.

But after breakfast, things got harder. 

First there was the shower, always a difficult prospect because Heero often found himself focusing on the patch of grout closest to the rim of the tub, on the dark filling between the white tiles that, to him, looked more red than black. No matter how many times he scrubbed the tiles, he always saw red lining the tub and he always stared.

Heero had never cared much for masturbation - as a teenager he had had a brief fixation with it, but his enthusiasm had evaporated after his father had caught him in bed one morning and called him a worthless, disgusting pervert. The admonishment hadn’t put a  _ full _ stop to Heero’s self-pleasure but it had made him more circumspect, and over the years Heero had found less and less motivation to bother. 

But, it  _ was _ a good distraction, and whenever he found himself staring at the tiles for too long he found that was the best - and often the only - way to force himself to look away from the grout.

So that too became part of his routine. 

As Heero touched himself, running one soap-slicked hand over his erect shaft and alternating between massaging his balls and pinching his own nipples with the other, he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and tried to think of nothing at all except the building pressure in his groin, the staccato beat of his heart and the shallow puffs of his breaths.

In the heartbeats before orgasm, Heero always lost control, always lost his focus, as his body neared completion and his thighs quivered and his pulse stuttered. He hated those moments, hated that out-of-control feeling, hated being at the mercy of his impulses and desires.

After he came, he rinsed himself off and stepped out of the shower, very careful not to look at the grout, and the wave of emptiness and disappointment he felt as he stepped out of the shower and started to dry off stayed with him for most of the day.

If it was during the week, he dressed for work, selecting one non-descript dress shirt from the rest and tucking it into a pair of trousers - all the same cut, but he had a pair each of navy, gray and black. If he had a meeting scheduled, then he added a jacket and tie, but since his role buried in the bowels of a financial planning group’s IT department kept him away from most meetings, it was rare for him to have to dress up.

Heero left his apartment at exactly 7:45 every day that he worked. He walked three blocks and caught the 8:15 bus, and he arrived at work at 8:45. He spent the half-hour on the bus reading science and tech blogs on his phone. He always put in his earbuds, though he never played music or listened to podcasts. But he had discovered that the best way to avoid conversations was to appear as unavailable as possible.

At 8:45 his bus stopped two blocks from the tower where Life Security Financial rented three floors, and Heero walked the remainder of his commute with hunched shoulders, hands in his pockets, earbuds still firmly in place.

He walked into the main lobby at 8:50 and swiped his keycard to gain access to the elevators.

At 8:54 the elevator doors opened on the seventeenth floor, and Heero stepped out after pocketing his earbuds and walked the twelve yards to his shared office.

At 8:56 he opened up his email and started to sort through the junk, the priorities, and the notifications from colleagues who felt that IT could - and should - cure everything to do with anything electronic in the office.

Heero spent the next hour sorting through his email queue.  Replying and deleting and looking at the minutes pass with agonizing slowness.

At 10:01 he got up, took a piss in the bathroom at the opposite end of the floor and washed his hands for thirty-six seconds before drying them off with a single paper towel. Then he returned to his office.

At 10:30 he rose again and began making the rounds, going to the desks or offices who had sent him frantic emails about their computers or printers or phones or calculators or - this was a new one today - their staplers.

At 11:54 he finished whatever task he was working on and returned to his office for his earbuds. 

It took him seven minutes to leave the office and walk to the diner one block away.

At 12:17 the waitress, usually Becky but sometimes Marie or Candy, placed a salad, half ham and swiss sandwich, and a glass of orange juice in front of him. She slid the check under the caddy of condiments that sat in the middle of the table. Invariably, at least the edge if not half of the check became wet, because she always put the glass of juice right beside it, and the condensation on the outside bled onto the check.

Heero hated the feel of the wet paper, the faded ink as it swirled away. But he always left it there, never bothered to save it, until he finished his meal.

At 12:52 he pulled a $10 bill from his wallet and left it on top of the check. It too, became wet, sometimes, if the glass of orange juice had just come from the dishwasher.

By 1:00 he was back in his office, opening emails again.

At 1:24 he made another round of fixes.

At 2:43 he was usually done for the day, unless someone managed to screw up something in a new and catastrophic fashion, and he spent the remaining two hours and seventeen minutes at work looking at posts in the science subreddits he followed. Occasionally, someone would walk past his office, but Heero never bothered to look up or hide what he was doing. No one cared. Not even Heero.

At 4:57 he checked his email one last time, and then he ran the update and shutdown sequence for his computer.

It took longer to get home than it did to arrive at work - traffic always seemed to be worse in the evening than in the morning - and it was 5:52 when he stepped off of the bus.

Instead of going straight back to his apartment, he walked a block further away and went to the bodega on the corner.

Heero only bought groceries for one day at a time. He didn’t like things to spoil, didn’t like the idea of things rotting away in his fridge or on his counter. The only things he bought weekly, instead of daily, was his orange juice and coffee. His monthly supplies - toilet paper, paper towels, dish soap - he usually purchased on a Saturday.

It was Monday, which meant he needed to buy more coffee, as well as his dinner and breakfast for Tuesday.

On Wednesday, he would buy the orange juice. 

He walked down the produce section and selected a single banana before bagging a handful of green beans. Then he walked down to the meat section. It was Monday, which meant fish. He looked through the glass at the rows of dead things laid out on ice. Salmon was on sale this week.

Heero picked up a package of seran-wrapped mackerel and added it to his basket.

He stopped by the frozen food aisle and bought a frozen package of macaroni and cheese, and then he got into a checkout line.

At 6:27 he opened his apartment and put away the newly-purchased groceries. 

He changed out of his work clothes and into one of the seven t-shirts he had kept, this one a U2 shirt from his first concert, and his gray sweatpants.

At 7:01, Relena called.

Sometimes she called a little earlier, sometimes a few minutes later. She had never said anything, but Heero knew she had figured out that whenever she called before seven or more than five minutes after, it threw off his schedule and irritated him. Heero wasn’t chatty at the best of times, but when his schedule was thrown off, he was barely able to hold a conversation with her at all.

“How was work today?” she asked.

“Fine.”

“Have they replaced Sam yet? Or are you still juggling all of the work by yourself?”

“It’s not that much work.”

“Still, you were hired to be part of a team. And I’m sure the day would pass quicker if you had company.”

“I don’t mind.” In truth, Heero wasn’t sure why he would want the day to pass by quicker. All that would mean was coming home to his empty apartment and spending the next sixteen hours alone. He didn’t need the day to pass quicker.

“Well, my mother and brother say hello. I went to visit this weekend - did I tell you?”

She probably had, but Heero didn’t remember. He made a noncommittal noise.

“Zechs finally came out. And, of course, he did it in spectacular Zechs fashion. He brought his boyfriend over to dinner - he’s nice, Quatre Winner - and didn’t bother to tell Quatre that mother didn’t know. So it was horribly awkward for everyone. Mother started to cry and- well. Quatre and I escaped to the backyard with the wine. I like him. He’s probably too good for my brother.”

“Is he smart enough to realize that?”

Relena laughed, as caught off-guard as she always was when Heero went to the effort of making a joke, and Heero found himself relaxing at the bright sound.

“Oh, he’s definitely smart enough. I’m not sure Zechs realizes just  _ how _ brilliant he is. My brother is so used to being the smartest one in the room, he-”

“You’ve always been smarter than him,” Heero interrupted.

Relena made a sound, like a huff of breath. 

“Well. You’ve always thought so,” she acknowledged.

“Princeton thought so too,” he had to say. “And-”

“Yes, I remember the list of colleges that accepted me,” she cut him off. “But thank you, for saying that,” she added quickly, as if afraid of hurting Heero’s feelings.

Heero sighed. She was always afraid of that.

“How is your father?” he asked, because she hadn’t mentioned him.

“I- I didn’t go see him, this time. I will. Next time I visit. But I just… Zechs and- it was just-”

“It was too much,” he supplied for her.

“Yes,” she agreed, her voice a little ragged. 

He probably shouldn’t have brought up her father. He always felt guilty for doing it, but he always seemed to forget.

“Anyway,” she continued in a forced tone, “I thought maybe we could get lunch on Wednesday this week?”

“Instead of dinner on Saturday?”

“No, I thought maybe both. Unless you have plans, or-”

“I never have plans.”

“Well, would you  _ like _ to have lunch on Wednesday?”

“I always have lunch on Wednesday.”

“With  _ me _ , Heero,” she sounded exasperated, and Heero felt a thread of amusement at that.

“You don’t have to. You can say no to me, Heero. If you-” He had waited too long to answer, and she was assuming the worst.

“Lunch is fine. On Wednesday.”

“Yes. Good. I’ll stop by your office? Will you give the lobby my name as a guest?”

“Yes.” He wrote it down on a note, because it was something he would normally forget to do.

“Wonderful. I’m excited. Well. I should let you go- Oh, what are you having for dinner tonight? Have you tried that tilapia recipe I sent you?”

“Mackerel tonight,” he said.

“Oh. I didn’t think you liked strong-tasting fish.”

“I don’t.”

She was silent for a long moment.

“Is there- can I- you’re okay? One to Ten?”

“Four,” he said, and she was silent again.

“Heero-”

“I’m  _ fine _ . It’s-”

“I know you’re fine, Heero. Just. You’ll tell me if it gets worse, won’t you? Tell me if it’s a two.”

“I promised you I would.”

“You’ll call me? Or text me if you don’t want to hear my voice. But you’ll tell me?”

“I promised.”

“I know. And you keep your promises. I just- I’m here, Heero. I’m always here for you.”

Heero ignored the raw, burning feeling in his throat and eyes.

“Heero?”

“I know,” he managed to say.

She cleared her throat. “Well, I’ll let you enjoy your mackerel. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He waited for her to end the call, and then he set his phone down on the kitchen counter.

7:34.

At 8:01 his dinner was ready, and Heero sat down at the small breakfast table in his kitchen and ate it while the last light of the day faded beyond the horizon.

At 8:24 he finished his dinner and rinsed off his plate and pans, and put them in the dishwasher with his dishes from breakfast. He started the cycle. 

Heero went to the bathroom and took a piss, washing his hands for thirty-six seconds afterwards, until his hands turned pink.

At 8:39 he sat down on the couch in his living room and turned on his television, pulling up Netflix and scrolling until he found  _ Gotham _ and the episode he had watched last.

At 9:27 he turned off the television and went into the bathroom to perform his nightly ablutions.

At 9:35 he took off his t-shirt and sweatpants. He plugged in his phone and picked up his Kindle.

He laid down in his bed and opened the Asimov book he had purchased over the weekend,  _ Foundation _ .

At 10:25 he put down his Kindle and tried to get comfortable in the lonely darkness of his room.

At 11:49 he turned away from his alarm clock and forced himself to close his eyes.

  
  


-o-

TBC in June

 

End Notes:

Cylina requested a 1x2/ 1xR based on  _ Kal Ho Naa Ho _ , an incredibly successful Bollywood movie. I’ve simplified the plot immensely, but if the story catches your attention you might want to try out the original movie - and/or give the soundtrack a listen!

 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: For CylinaNightshade, one of my amazing patrons on Patreon. Here is your June fic, as requested. 

A/N #2: For details on the request, please see the endnotes. 

A/N#3: As always, thank you so very, very much to my amazing beta reader Ro. You not only save me from the curse of run-on sentences, but give me the motivation to keep writing.

 

Warnings: angst, language, sexy-times, CHARACTER DEATH

Pairings: 1x2, 1xR

 

_ Treading Water _

Part Two

 

Every other Wednesday, Heero had to meet with the Human Resources Department.

He was pretty sure they weren’t legally required to make him do it, but he was also confident that they could fire him if he didn’t.

It upset his entire routine - not just because it ate into the time he used to review the IT requests each morning - but because he thought about it  _ all _ day.

As he ate breakfast, he had to look at the note on his wall calendar. The yellow highlighter that he had used to precisely cover every letter from the W to the Y. The HR written in sharpie and underlined. 9:45. The loop that connected the top of the 9 wasn’t quite right, just a little off, and extended too far. 

Heero stared at it, unable to look away from the imperfection. It was probably a metaphor for his life, his inability to draw a correct numeral. His inability to ignore the failure.

He stared at it for too long, and he got into the shower fifteen minutes later than usual.

Angry and frustrated, he scrubbed his skin almost raw with the loofa, his forearms going from pink to red before Heero was distracted by the grout in the corner again.

It looked so much like blood.

He needed to scrub it down with clorox again. He hadn’t, not since Sunday. 

The need to scrub at it had him reaching for the shower liner, thinking to just do it  _ now _ , but he stopped himself.

He didn’t have time.

He was already late. He would be even later if he stopped to scrub the grout. He would be late enough that he might miss his meeting with HR.

So Heero released the plastic curtain and drew in a deep breath and reached for his flaccid cock. 

He felt nearly frantic as he tried to work himself up to an erection, as he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to think about the grout. About the meeting. About-

Lunch with Relena.

All of it was happening today. It was too much. It was all wrong, and  _ he _ was all wrong.

Heero felt angry, burning tears prick his eyes, and he continued to desperately stroke himself, until he was finally erect, his body responding to the stimulation in the same predictable way it always did, and when Heero came, he felt the same emptiness and disappointment as always. Only, today, his loss of control during orgasm left him trembling and shaking, even when he got out of the shower, even when he braced himself over the bathroom sink and stared at the dark shape of his head in the fogged-over mirror.

He drew in several deep, ragged breaths, trying to calm down, trying to focus. 

It was too much.

Too much and-

His phone rang.

He wanted to ignore it, and he managed to for all of three rings.

But Heero didn’t usually get spam calls, and he didn’t usually get  _ calls _ . So if someone was calling him, it was important enough that he needed to answer it.

His phone was still plugged into the charger on his nightstand, and it took him so long to get to it that he thought maybe the caller would hang up first.

But just as he approached, it rang again, and the caller ID flashed on the phone.

It was Relena.

They had just spoken last night - they spoke  _ every _ night - and she had reminded Heero about their lunch today, about her security clearance. Even Relena wasn’t redundant enough to call him again this morning. She trusted him a  _ little _ .

He picked up the phone.

“Relena.” He said her name by way of greeting, even though they both knew who she was. It was unnecessary, and wrong, and he knew his voice was rough with frustration and anger at himself.

“Heero, I-”

He could tell, with just those two words, that something was wrong.

“What happened?”

“Nothing, nothing, I just need to cancel our lunch today, and-” She paused and drew in an audibly shaky breath. She had been crying - she  _ was _ crying. “And I wanted to let you know. I’m sorry to-”

“What happened?” he repeated his question.

He had known her since they were children, since she had invited Heero to her birthday party when they had been four and he had torn up the invitation, and she had burst into tears and cried and cried until Heero apologized and promised to come to all of her birthdays forever.

Despite that, Relena did  _ not _ cry often - not since leaving childhood behind.

He heard her sob and then attempt to stifle another.

“Relena.”

“It’s- Oh, Heero. I know you’ve got your own things to deal with. I don’t want to-”

“Please, tell me.”

“My- my father, he… he had another fall. He’s back in the hospital again.”

Relena’s parents had had her late in life, years after her older brother, and her father had been diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's four years ago and, after nearly burning down his home last year, Relena’s mother had moved him to a full-time care facility. He had not done well with the transition - whenever his family visited and he was lucid, he was angry and abusive towards them. He also had a habit of lashing out at his care workers - lucid or not - and had had several falls, two of which - now three - had resulted in trips to the hospital.

“Relena.”

“It’s- He fractured his hip again.” Relena paused and drew in another breath, this one more steady than the last. “Mother can’t- She can’t go through this again, so I need to be with him at the hospital today.”

Heero listened to her breathing, waiting for her to regain some control of herself.

“What can I do?”

“Oh, no, Heero, that’s not why I-”

“I want to help, Relena. What can I do?”

He shouldn’t need to ask - he should  _ know _ how to help her - but Heero had never been good at any of this. At friendships, at Relena. He had always  _ wanted _ to be, and Relena always seemed content for him to simply  _ be _ there. 

But he felt impotent, felt consumed by his own failures, and he  _ needed _ to do something right today. For her. For himself.

“Heero, I don’t want you to go out of your way or-”

“I can bring you lunch. At the hospital.” The idea came to him and he latched on to it. It was  _ something _ . And she had been the one to set their lunch date in the first place.

She sniffled again.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No. I wouldn’t mind.”

“That would be nice, Heero. He’s at Presbyterian, in room 314. I- I’ll have my phone if you need to call me. If you change your mind or something comes up.”

“I won’t,” Heero assured her.

When he hung up the phone, Heero felt a sense of purpose. 

It had been  _ forever _ since he had felt actually motivated by something more than the knowledge that he  _ had _ to do something.

He dressed quickly, leaving his apartment and walking to the bus stop with long, purposeful strides. 

He had missed his usual bus, but even as he waited for the next bus, he felt  _ full _ , anxious in a way that had nothing to do with scrubbing his skin raw or the bathroom grout bare.

The feeling stayed with him through the bus ride, his walk to the Life Security Financial building, the elevator ride up to the offices, and the first ten minutes of checking his email.

And then it was 9:41 and he needed to start walking down the hall, and up two flights of stairs, to get to the Human Resources Department for his 9:45 meeting.

He was two minutes late, just like he always was, and, just like always, Trowa Barton, the HR Manager who was unlucky enough to be stuck handling these meetings, sat behind his desk sipping coffee from a cat mug, looking so bored that it would probably take an asteroid colliding with Earth to get a reaction from him.

“You’re late,” he said, already on script.

“I know.” Heero sat down in the chair in front of Trowa’s desk, uncomfortable with how plush the seat cushion was.

Trowa regarded Heero over the rim of his cat mug, content to sit there in silence and simply stare at Heero.

It was 9:51 when Trowa put the mug down on his desk and sat up straighter in his chair.

“How have things been for you, these last two weeks?”

“I’ve been as efficient as I always am.”

Trowa nodded in agreement. 

“Yes. And?”

Heero scowled. The script was  _ always _ the same.

“And things have been fine.”

“No…” Trowa paused, and seemed to be struggling for the right words. “Feelings of isolation and depression?”

Heero stared at him until Trowa sighed and picked up his mug again.

“I don’t enjoy these meetings any more than you do, Heero,” Trowa reminded him.

“Then why bother?”

Trowa gave him a look.

“You know why.”

Heero did, more or less.

It was to cover their asses, in the event that Heero attempted suicide again and actually succeeded this time.

He wasn’t sure  _ how _ it had happened, but Sam, his former co-worker in IT, had found out about Heero’s failed attempt nine months ago and spread the word around the office.

On Heero’s first day back at work, a week after his one month  _ family leave _ ended - the leave that Relena had called in and arranged for him with HR  - Heero had been called into Trowa’s superior’s office and it had been very broadly hinted at that Heero might be happier if he found work  _ elsewhere _ .

Heero had told Relena about the conversation, that night, and the next morning she had shown up in full savior mode and suggested that LSF would be facing a lawsuit that would ruin their company if Heero was fired.

The very next day, Heero had been asked to sit down with Trowa and  _ touch base _ . The meetings had continued every other Wednesday since then, and they were all the exact same.

“I’m not going to kill myself,” Heero said. “This is pointless.”

“Maybe for you, but this is the highlight of my fortnight.”

That was new.

“Fortnight?”

Trowa’s lips twitched, and he nodded.

He had a strange sense of humor. Heero had thought that even  _ before _ all of this began.

“We’ve finally replaced Sam,” Trowa said, changing the subject abruptly.

Heero stared. It had been so long, he had thought the company had decided just one IT person was enough.

“He should be in by ten-thirty. I’m sure you can get him settled in?”

Even if Heero didn’t have to go to the hospital for Relena, he wouldn’t have wanted to do this.

He didn’t, frankly,  _ want _ Sam to be replaced. He didn’t want to share the small, isolated office with anyone else. He didn’t want another nosey co-worker who ruined his life and disregarded his privacy.

“Thanks,” Trowa said, even though Heero had not agreed - or spoken up at all.

Heero sighed and stood up, taking it as a dismissal even if it wasn’t.

He left the office and walked back to his own, taking his time. All of his early purpose and energy was gone. 

Because it wasn’t  _ his _ office anymore.

And even though it was only 10:17, when Heero opened the door, he saw that the empty desk across from his own was no longer empty.

There was a backpack casually slung over it and, sitting with his feet crossed at the ankle and resting on the desk surface, was Heero’s new co-worker.

“Heya!” The man looked away from his computer screen when Heero stepped into the room.

He was grinning, his eyes were bright, and he stood up with a smooth, boneless grace that made Heero’s lips curl.

“You must be Heero. I’m Duo, Duo Maxwell. Your new co-exile.”

Heero raised an eyebrow when Duo held out his hand.

“Er… okay. Well,” Duo lifted the hand and ran it through his bangs, “Tro mentioned you would walk me through the set-up and give me the run-down?”

_ Tro _ ?

Heero seriously doubted the HR Manager appreciated the nickname. He also doubted that Duo would care. He didn’t strike Heero as the type to care about being polite.  _ Or _ the type to appreciate personal space.

Heero sat down at his computer, and Duo sat on the desk, leaning close, crowding Heero.

“Back off,” Heero bit out after he inhaled and got a nose full of Duo’s aftershave. It smelled clean and faintly like lemons.

Duo was startled by the words and the tone, but he shifted away, standing up and moving behind Heero’s chair.

“Better?” he asked, an edge to his voice.

It wasn’t, but Heero doubted Duo would go back to his  _ own _ desk.

Heero spent the next hour showing Duo the operating systems, the various software programs, and walking him through IT procedures. With almost every new topic, Duo stopped Heero and asked  _ why, _ and then, after Heero’s brief explanations, Duo would suggest trying something else.

Heero couldn’t decide if it was more or less irritating that half of Duo’s suggestions were things that  _ he _ had suggested when he first started working for LFS two years ago. 

With every one of Duo’s suggestions, though, Heero simply told him that the  _ current _ way worked just fine and there was no need to change anything - the same line Sam had used on Heero when he had been in Duo’s position. Duo just shrugged, offered a flippant “Whatever, man”, and waited for Heero to show him the  _ next _ thing he wanted to argue about.

By the time Heero stopped to pack up for lunch, he wanted to pack up  _ all _ of his stuff and never come back.

He wasn’t used to spending so much time with someone - and certainly not someone like  _ Duo _ , who seemed to jump between good humor and biting sarcasm every other heartbeat, and who  _ talked _ . 

Sam, at least, had been the kind who sat at his desk and muttered complaints, who occupied himself with looking at porn or Reddit, but didn’t actually interact with Heero very often.

Duo, already, after just an  _ hour, _ had spoken more to Heero than Sam ever had in more than a year of working together.

“Any good lunch hangouts?” Duo asked, following Heero out of their office.

Heero glared at him, but Duo was completely unperturbed.

“No,” Heero said, and Duo shrugged.

They got in the elevator, Duo stepping back to lean against the rear wall and pull out his phone.

“Well, where are you going?” Duo asked. “I’m new to the area and-”

“I’m going to the hospital.”

Heero could see Duo’s shocked expression reflected when the elevator doors closed. He almost felt satisfied to have momentarily shut him up.

“Um… do they have good food there?”

Heero glared at Duo over his shoulder, and Duo offered up another shrug.

“Just asking.”

Heero ignored him for the rest of the ride down, and as soon as the doors opened, he took off, walking fast, headed for the bus stop.

There was a deli near the hospital, and Relena had ordered a turkey club sandwich the last time she ate lunch with Heero, months ago, at this diner. He was sure they would have that at the deli.

They did, and he bought the sandwich, a bottle of water and a brownie for Relena before walking across the street and into the cold, too-familiar halls of Presbyterian West Hospital.

He walked into the main lobby and the scent of disinfectant hit his nose, making his stomach roil and bile rush to his throat.

Heero tried to just breathe through his nose - with very little success - as he walked past the information desk and towards the bank of elevators. He stepped into one and was quickly surrounded by a family of four, an elderly couple and two white-coated doctors.

Heero looked at them but, thankfully, didn’t recognize their faces.

He had to push his way through the crowd when the elevator stopped at the third floor, and he made his way past the nurses station and down the hall, to room 314.

The door was open, and he saw Relena sitting in a chair beside the bed, saw her father - looking old and pale and bruised - lying in the bed under layers of blankets.

He hesitated on the threshold. He hadn’t really thought about this, what it would feel like to step back into a hospital room again.

He shifted his weight to his other foot, and it caught Relena’s attention. She lifted her gaze to his, and Heero saw that her eyes and cheeks were red and swollen.

“You came.”

“I said I would.” He wanted to be offended that she had doubted him, but then, she had plenty of reasons to think he would forget to come or to simply avoid setting foot in this hospital again.

Relena got up from her chair and crossed the small room and, before Heero could react, she threw herself against his chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

She stood there, clinging to him, and Heero stood there, taking in the scent of shampoo, the feel of her hair under his chin, her hands digging into his shirt and shoulders, her slight body against his.

Belatedly, awkwardly, Heero folded his arms around her body, the water and bag of food still in his hands.

They stood there for several minutes, and he wasn’t sure if she was crying again or not, but when she pulled away there were tear streaks down her face again.

She offered him an apologetic smile and wiped at them.

“Sorry. It’s just. It’s a lot.”

Heero nodded in agreement and held out the food.

She laughed softly, the sound empty of her usual emotion, her strength and joy. The brittle sound cut into Heero, and he wished-

He wasn’t sure what he wished. He wished he could comfort her. He wished this hadn’t happened to her. To her father. He wished that he wasn’t so empty and useless. He wished  _ so _ many things.

Relena sat back down in her chair, beside the bed, and Heero remained in the doorway, unable to step into the room.

It smelled like the old one.

It  _ felt _ like the old one, and even the angle of the sunlight through the blinds was the same.

“I should- I should go,” he decided.

Her face crumbled again, but she nodded.

“Yes. Of course. You have work.”

It had been the wrong decision, for her. It was probably the wrong decision for  _ him _ , but it was too late to change his mind now.

Heero looked over at Relena’s father in the bed, and he couldn’t help but think that she had to be used to sitting in chairs beside beds by now. Between her father and Heero.

He swallowed hard and looked back at her. She mustered up a brave, fake smile.

“Thank you for bringing me lunch,” she said.

Heero nodded. It had been the least he could do - but it was also, clearly,  _ all _ he could do.

He eased out of the room, fleeing, and he made it back to the office by 12:53.

His office -  _ their _ office - was empty, and he sank into the chair behind his desk with a relieved sigh. He couldn’t deal with anyone right now. Not with Duo. Not after he had so plainly failed Relena.

It was 1:17 before Duo sauntered into the office, and he wasn’t alone.

Trowa, from HR, was at his side.

“...she said? Damn, Tro. You need to step up your game, my man.”

Heero looked up at the sound of Duo’s voice, and saw the man grinning at Trowa, who, for perhaps the first time since Heero had met him, looked genuinely at ease in someone else’s company.

“Heya!” Duo’s grin grew even broader at the sight of Heero.

Heero just stared at him, and Duo’s lips twitched before settling into a more neutral expression.

“Catch ya later, Tro!” Duo waved at the HR Manager, who looked past him towards Heero, one eyebrow cocked.

Heero wasn’t sure what that look was supposed to mean, but he knew he didn’t really care.

Trowa left and Duo perched himself on the edge of Heero’s desk again, further away than he had in the morning.

“So, what’s on tap for the afternoon, chief?” 

Heero closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe normally.

How was it possible to find a more repellant human being than Sam?

“I need to fix things.”

“Coolio. You wanna divide up the work or-”

“I can do it.”

“Okay… then maybe I’ll tag along so I can get the lay of the land, see how you do things?”

Heero ignored the suggestion. In fact, he ignored  _ Duo _ .

He pulled up all of the work requests on his company-issued tablet and started to prioritize them, aware of Duo looking over his shoulder as he worked.

“So, virus flags get priority. That makes sense. And you-”

“I don’t need you to narrate this,” Heero interrupted him.

“Right. Lips sealed.” Duo mimed closing his lips, locking them and then throwing away a key.

Heero scowled and stood up. He left the office, walking briskly, and was irritated that Duo caught up immediately and kept pace with him.

Their first stop was upstairs. A VP had opened an email attachment from an unknown contact - strictly against company policy, and something Heero had underlined in his monthly email to the associates at LSF  _ again _ .

“Hey! I’m Duo, new guy in IT.” The irritating man held out his hand to the VP while Heero gestured for the man to get up from his computer.

“Jackson,” the VP said, shaking Duo’s hand.

“Cool, cool. You’ve got a  _ sweet _ view up here, Jax.” Duo whistled as he looked out of the corner office windows. “You must work pretty hard for this, huh?”

“I try.” The VP sounded smug. He motioned towards Heero. “You can fix it, right? I really don’t know what happened. I just-”

“Heero’s got it,” Duo assured the VP, patting him on the shoulder. “Just like you’re awesome at  _ your _ job - thus the amazing view - Heero knows his shit. So, tell me about this email attachment. Was it from a client? A family member?”

“No, no. I’d never seen the contact before.”

“Uh huh. So, I’m new here, Jax, but do you  _ normally _ download attachments from unknown contacts? Is that… like a thing here?”

The VP sighed.

They were being loud, and while it didn’t distract Heero, it  _ did _ annoy him. In the past, he would show up, sit down, and work on solving the problem while whoever’s desk he was occupying went to get coffee or gossip with their coworkers. They all knew, by now, not to talk to him.

“No, it’s not. But…”

“But? Was it a kitten gif or something? Because, I gotta be real with you, Jax, I love those things. Seriously. I live for them.”

“No, it…”

“Oh.  _ Oh _ . Jax! At  _ work _ ?”

Heero spared a glance at the two men, and noticed that the VP’s face was red and Duo was shaking his head in gentle admonishment.

“I’m finished here,” Heero announced, and stood up.

“That- that quickly?” The VP sounded shocked and relieved.

“Told you, Heero’s a badass.” Duo clapped the man on his shoulder. “Now,  _ next _ time you get an email promising that kind of…  _ amazing view _ , just delete it, yeah? If you want, I can send you the links to all kinds of non-malicious websites for that kind of thing - that you can look at  _ away _ from work.”

Duo winked, and the VP chuckled and shook his hand again. It was almost like they had known each other for years.

Heero was starting to feel the same - he felt like he had already known Duo for years and already  _ hated _ him for the same length of time.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly, in much the same pattern. Duo would chat up whoever needed their help, while Heero sat down and fixed whatever chaos they had unleashed on their computer, phone or printer.

By 4:46, Heero was contemplating writing his letter of resignation.

Duo was just  _ too _ much to deal with. He was friendly and talkative, and he was  _ there _ .

It was too much.

When Duo slung his backpack over one shoulder and stood up at 4:58, he offered Heero a grin.

“Same Bat-time, same Bat-place tomorrow?”

Heero glared at him, and Duo snorted. He gave Heero a mocking salute.

“Copy that. See ya later, man.”

And then he was gone.

For the first time in months, Heero worked late, staying until 6:42 just to catch up with the emails he had missed that morning, and that afternoon as he chaperoned Duo. It all could have waited until the morning, but Heero wanted to feel like he had accomplished  _ something _ that day aside from merely surviving Duo’s presence.

It was 7:35 before he reached the bodega, and as he walked down the aisles he realized he had no idea what to get for dinner. It was Wednesday. Wednesday meant- he didn’t remember. He didn’t remember what he was supposed to eat on Wednesdays. And wasn’t there something else he was supposed to get, too?

And it was 7:35. Relena hadn’t called.

He checked his phone, just to be sure he hadn’t missed the call while riding the bus, but it showed no recent calls - not since that morning.

He wondered if he should call  _ her _ . He never did that.

But maybe, today, she would-

What would Heero even say, if she answered? 

Better not to call. 

That decision did  _ not _ help him figure out what he was in the store for, however. After another twenty minutes of walking back and forth down the pasta aisle, Heero left the store empty-handed.

It was 8:21 when he walked into his apartment.

The refrigerator was empty. Even the orange juice container was empty.

Orange Juice. It was Wednesday. He was supposed to get orange juice.

Heero knew he should probably go back out. The bodega closed at nine, so he would have a few minutes to shop. But he didn’t want to. He  _ couldn’t _ .

Instead, he sat down on his couch and stared at the dark television for nearly half an hour before he finally turned it on, before he pulled up Netflix and  _ Gotham _ .

He checked his phone again at 1:12, but of course Relena hadn’t called him. 

Gray light filtered in through the windows behind the television before Heero checked the phone again.

4:57.

His eyes itched, and when Heero finally closed them, he felt the burn of tears.

  
  
  
  



End file.
